Infection [Barton Henning]

Pistol clenched her jaw as she glanced at the view from the wonderful level of 120, the level of where her private practice was located, where her marvelous office sat with bright lights and green live plants. To her dismay, the lobby seats were not so lively. They all sat empty, desolate, quiet, and ignored for what seemed like the third time this week. This wasn't common for Pistol Garret, Herbal Practitioner, but it had, however, become quite a trend for some time.

Her brown eyes scanned the room and suddenly she furrowed her brow and huffed, annoyed to a degree that made her skin crawl. She turned away from the window dropping her crossed arms to see the curved desk where one of her secretaries worked on paperwork paying no mind to the annoyance written all over Pistol's face. She slowly walked over to the desk and leaned on it, her mind racing with how damaging this all was to her. She looked down at the woman finding that she had realized her boss' precense and contorted her face to show confusion.

"Have you seen the time?" Pistol said in a tone that was calm and riddled with disbelief. "I'm telling you I know exactly what the problem is." She glanced at her wrist and pushed away the white coat to check the time in case she was just being paranoid, but it was right on. Half past eleven, one of the most busiest times for her business.

"It's the other office," She said slitting her eyes at the woman while gesturing her right hand at the ceiling as if he were right there. "Doctor Henning." She finished, leaning on the palm of her hand knowing it was very unprofessional for her to be standing there wallowing in her grief, if one would so call it that when she was more fond of the word stressed.

Pistol hadn't been in Cloud City long, but long enough to gain a name for herself with the elderly in the city, as well as those who enjoyed keeping up with their health in a practical, less complicated way. Herbal medicine, which was a rarity these days with the wonderful world of technology. But she was quick to learn a lesson in business...that it was just that business. It was all due to the continuing popularity of the man "upstairs", level 115 to be exact, and her business had seemingly been depleating, although she wasn't willing to admit her old ways of medicine were a thing of the past. Never underestimate the power of denial her father always preached and here she was in so deep that it made her head spin.

"Doctor Barton Henning." Even his name sounded like nails on a chalkboard. She sighed out and shook her head trying to understand that she was either paranoid and taking the slump badly or she was dead on and that her medical practice was in the drain.

Five levels up, things weren't quite so quiet. There had already been four cloud-car crashes, a mugging in Port Town and an industrial accident in the lower levels, not to mention the droves of people complaining of flus and infections. The fact of the matter was that Cloud City was a dangerous place. Thanks to all of the luxuries that the city had to offer, the population had been on a steady increase for years and with now over six million calling the floating city home, things could get a little cramped. Tempers flared and tensions grew, especially in a place that housed people from such a diverse variety of backgrounds.

“I've been waitin' 'ere over an hour!” A stout Ugnaught had all but climbed up onto the foyer counter of the medical practice, and was jabbing an accusing finger at the receptionist.

“I'm sorry, sir, but-”

“Don't you tell me I'm not ill! I know I'm ill! I've-!”

“Got a mild flu.” Barton emerged into the foyer, wiping his brow with the back of one arm.

“There are posters up all around the city explaining the symptoms and what to do about it, Gruzzk. The virus has a limited life-span, and will die out itself in a week or so. There's nothing I can do to help you besides advise exactly what's on those posters - rest.”

Gruzzk, the Ugnaught, grunted. “Fine then! I'll take my business elsewhere.”

Henning sighed. The practice was hardly a business. Every single one of them people visiting the hospital was being treated for free. The governing body took a portion of their taxes and used it, alongside private donations, to pay for medical supplies, overheads and – of course – the doctors wages. Unfortunately for the people of Cloud City, they had skimped a little on the latter. There were a good number of medical droids on hand, but only Barton to offer a human perspective. It was tiring work.

“Alright, who's next...”

"Miss Pearlman." At least it had been better than nothing, Pistol thought as her only patient for the hour sat in a comfortable chair in a small observations room ready for the remedy. She smiled at her not sure if she was getting too excited to have seen a new face and a new problem. Pistol grabbed a chair and pulled it close to the woman as she glanced at the hologram chart and touching it with a small pen, watching the screen grow black after having surveyed the symptoms and problems.

"Here is a small bag of golden tea, crushed herbs and spices." She handed the bag to the lady who coughed slightly. "It will help you with giving you some energy as well as help your immune system." With a smile she looked at her patient. "As well as good old fashioned rest." The lady nodded and put the small bag into her lap as she dabbed her nose that was running like a leaking faucet.

"Rest." She mocked. "Seems that is all doctors are saying these days." Pistol smiled as she marked on a small datapad the problem and the remedy. "That is what Doctor Henning said as well." There it was again, like a plague that wouldn't go away. Pistol looked up at Miss Pearlman and was ready to pull her hair out.

"Oh?" She said with a cocked eyebrow. Even in her own office her patients were talkign about the good 'ol doctor. "You saw him previously?" Hopefully he was driving them away with rest, but she knew that would be a false hope. The lady smiled and shook her head in response.

"No, a friend of mine was telling me about him. Very nice, professional, too. I figured coming here would cost less money and would be a little bit more personable." At least that was a plus.

Pistol couldn't stand having to go to a professional office where she'd sit for almost an hour in a cramped room full of sick people only to go into another room and wait some more until a cybernetic took over the job and gave her the treatment she needed when she was hoping to speak with a human. It wasn't as personal as it should have been and it was so expensive nowadays to get the care one needed, no wonder his building looked so nice. She sighed out and stood, looking at her patient with a warm smile.

"Well, we can't all care about our patients." Pistol knew that was a low blow to a man and a business she had never really came into contact with. She didn't know him personally, although after hearing so much about him she was beginning to wonder if he wore a golden halo to work or left it back home. She grinned at that thought. "Like I said, Miss Pearlman, drink the tea and rest. In a few days you should be feeling like your old self again." Now, Pistol thought, if there was just a cure for the plague she so happened to dub 'Doctor Henning'.

The patient smiled happily and walked out of the office after a bow, no handshakes today with a dripping nose and a wretched cough. Pistol followed her into the lobby that was empty, save her hard workers who were probably bored out of their minds. She glanced at the receptionist and sighed. What was she to do when even her patients talked about another doctor. It felt like the love of her life were cheating on her with another man, or Doctor's office in her case.